Freedom
by queen-bess
Summary: Before she understood all about apples and Isaac Newton and gravity...


**AN: Right… This happens to be the first thing I've finished and therefore the first thing I've posted, so any constructive criticism is welcome. Big thanks to Fly for reading it through for me and helping me fix some of the tense 'issues' I had… And of course, I don't own BONES…**

Freedom

They remember what it's like. The roaring in your ears, the quiet in your heart, feeling hot and cold all at once, tingling fingers, quivering limbs and the total breathlessness that true beauty brings. Yes, they remember freedom.

...

When she was five, before she understood all about apples and Isaac Newton and gravity, her father used to take her to the park. She would race to the swings, tripping awkwardly over herself in her haste to reach her gateway to freedom. She would swing higher and higher, pushing to reach the sky, then would leap off the swing, her tiny body arching, looking almost lifeless at the top of the parabola, seeking that weightless moment. Then, before beginning to fall; muscles tensing, preparing to hit the ground and once again return to the confines of earth and gravity. She used to think that one day if she swung hard enough, high enough, long enough she would go flying, propelling herself up and up until she reached the freedom of space and the wonder of the stars. And although this never happened, that point right after she leapt off the swing felt almost like she was flying, and the freedom that the air afforded gave her hope.

As she grew, her need for physical flight transformed into a mental one. She escaped into learning, studying, knowledge. As she learned, other things began to fall away until now all she can see are lines of text detailing the effects of trauma on bones and the skeletal imperfections leading to that limp or this slouch. All she can feel is the smooth surface of the bones she handles and the slick pages of a textbook; all she hears are the long technical words she has begun to use and the Latinate names for the bones (scapula humerus, ulna, radius). All she can smell is the musty heaviness of the library and the formaldehyde that fills the laboratories. And all she can taste is her ambition. It is these senses that help her block out the things that make her feel trapped; the hunger, the pain, the loneliness. And it is the certainty that accompanies her new found knowledge (that, yes, this person was stabbed, and yes, this person was crushed) that almost outweighs all her pain, caused by doubt.

Now, while it is still about the answers, it is not only about that any more. The quest for justice and the desire to speak for those who have lost their voice creeps up within her and begins to override her long standing mechanism for feeling one shred of that hope that she felt when she was five and thought it possible to fly. Instead, as she looks at their bones and finds their voice, their story, she begins to find her own. The arch of a dolphins back and the sound of her long forgotten name remind her more strongly of the swings than any textbook ever could. The gentle call of 'Marco' down a phone line brings back that weightless sensation and the sight of her father, albeit in an orange jumpsuit and chains, gives her hope once more.

She begins to realise that her need for that release, that arch into the air, is no longer as prevalent as it once was. That is to say, the feeling she had for so many years, that she was trapped and the only place for her to retreat was her mind, is gone. The past that had dictated her future ceases to have such a hold on her. The knowledge of bones which she sought to replace the ignorance she felt about her family is no longer needed for that purpose. She knows now, knows the truth about Christine, about Max and finally about herself. She knows the extent of her love, what it will drive her to. She will fight and push and hurt to save her father. She understands that it is this knowledge, self-knowledge, which will finally secure her release, her flight.

Finally, it is him. She sees that now. Through the love she feels for her father (her willingness to push that little bit harder for Max, just because she loves her family) she begins to understand that maybe he loves her. He lied; the paragon of truth and justice and goodness sat there, swore to tell the truth and then lied for her. Maybe not in the strictest sense of the word but his gut, his heart told him otherwise, he had to speak out against what he believed, she made him deny his faith in her. It hurt him, she saw that, and that hurt her too. And in that moment of mutual pain, where eyes met across a room and all else disappeared, she found it. That freedom she had spent her whole life reaching for, grasping at, that was always slightly out of reach, finally, finally, finally brushed her fingertips and in a rush came to settle in her heart. She was loved and the warmth she feels enveloped in his arms on the courthouse steps feels as close to flying free into the stratosphere as she will ever get.

He is her freedom.

...

As a boy he would run. Run as fast as he could towards the seemingly elusive finish line, pushing himself faster and faster until in those last five meters, those five meters when he thought he couldn't possibly go any further, he would find those last reserves of energy and throw himself desperately over the white line painted onto the grass. At first, winning wasn't his objective; sure it felt good to have all his friends cheering for him, but what he really craved was the release he felt as he ran as fast as he could, beating his own expectations of himself and revelling in the adrenaline rush that succeeding brought. He secretly hoped that one day he could just keep running for ever and ever; away from the hot, violent anger of his father and the tears of his mother. Away from the pleading eyes of his brother, watering gently as they shut themselves in the wardrobe and listened to barely muffled screams and sickening cracks. And while it used to be all about the running, it ends up not being about that anymore because he has learned that when he wins he gets a free pass for that evening and what used to give him such joy and freedom now traps him into a cycle of winning being all that is relevant in his life.

Later he convinces himself that his freedom will only be found away from home and the army provides his escape. The structure; rigid, strict and necessary, allows him to forget (or ignore) the constriction he feels in his chest when he thinks about home or gets a phone call from his mother telling him everything is fine or a pleading call from his brother, sobbing, detailing the bruises on their mother's back and his broken wrist. But while he thinks he's finally found his freedom, his life in the Rangers makes his world smaller and smaller; with every man he kills his horizon gets closer and the pressure on his chest gets heavier and the speed he has coming up to his finish line gets slower and slower.

Next it is the clink of chips in his pocket, the ringing of the slot machine and the calls of the dealers. He has found a replacement for running, a new way to win. The adrenaline rush he feels as he walks out of the casino with ten thousand dollars in his pocket is unlike anything he has ever felt before. (At least that's what he tells himself, he ignores the feeling he used to get as he ran across that finish line. But more importantly he ignores the rush he felt when he killed someone, because it's the same feeling as he has now, the sick guilt mixed with the inevitable adrenaline rush that came with focusing so hard for so long.) But he doesn't always win, and when he doesn't, it's not the same as when he ran; there is no reward, only a deep pit of shame in the bottom of his stomach and the knowledge that what he is doing is wrong. It takes a lot of strength for him to stop, even more for him to believe that he has the strength to stop and this is when his horizon widens ever so slightly. The years of killing and gambling and guilt narrowed his world and now finally he can begin to see the sun rise and set.

When he becomes a father some of the pressure on his chest lifts, some of the crippling guilt leaves (to be replaced with completely understandable parental angst.) He begins to understand that his fathers actions were not his fault, that any decent parent wouldn't hit their child out of rage and depression and that it wasn't he who had a problem but his father. And it stops being about winning. He's still competitive, still proud of his accomplishments but Winning is less important, he simply wants to be a good father. And the more time he spends with his son the better he feels, yes it hurts more than anything to say goodbye but as he sees who is son is growing into he feels hope once again.

But still, he carries guilt, over the men he's killed and over his father and what he sees as his failure to protect his mother and brother. He finds the FBI and that helps, one captured murderer for every man he's killed (except he knows that will never be enough, but he thinks that if he keeps going for as long as he can maybe that will be enough, maybe…) and he finds Her. Initially she only helps him with the murderers, he appreciates her expertise, her drive to find the killers and her well concealed empathy for their victims. He watches her, sees her pain and realizes that a lot of it is reflected in himself. Neither of them really know who they are outside of the context of their work and as he ignores his own pain to focus on hers he begins to find himself in her, he finds that so many of the things he admires in her he also possesses. That both of them share an innate sense of justice and a desire for the truth and most importantly an overwhelming, but denied, passion for each other and this knowledge provides the greatest sense of freedom he has ever felt.

And as they sit at a bus shelter eating cake, after she has understood him well enough to ask him if he needs both time and space and he has realized that he will never really need space away form her, he finally finds the courage to tell her the truth (tell himself the truth) about his father. And in that moment his heart begins to race once more as he finally finds the joy in crossing that line for the lines sake and realizes that's it's her, she has widened his horizon and lifted the final weight off his chest.

She is his freedom.

...

And now they don't need to remember, because after a lifetime of searching they have found each other.


End file.
